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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26668003">From Start to Finish</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiseryLovesMe32/pseuds/MiseryLovesMe32'>MiseryLovesMe32</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sonic the Hedgehog (2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>At one point, Bottom Agent Stone (Sonic the Hedgehog 2020), Bottom Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik, I started two other fics before this, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not Beta Read, Smut, The Beginning of Feelings, Top Agent Stone (Sonic the Hedgehog 2020), Top Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik, but i got carried away, just a tad, my chi is not happy, pre-sonic, these two are daft and i shall write them as such, they switch, yet posting this one first</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:22:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,621</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26668003</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiseryLovesMe32/pseuds/MiseryLovesMe32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A failed experiment leads to other things... and then escalates.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik/Agent Stone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>From Start to Finish</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had started with bleary-eyed tiredness, running on fumes of patience, and ended with their guards down. A long weekend of balls-to-the-wall and no sleep to finish an emergency project for the Pentagon, where of course, no real credit would be given. It was just for the satisfaction that <em>he</em>, Doctor Robotnik, would succeed where others had failed, and Stone, ever loyal, would bear witness.</p><p>Though Stone on these occasions was just as important as any number of the Doctor’s robotic minions, and not just because of his coffee making abilities but for the Doctor to soundboard ideas off and actually receive a response, not just beeps and whirs, though sometimes stupid. Or worse, sarcastic and dry.</p><p>So the frustration from the failure after failure of experiments and tests sat with them both. No matter how high they rolled their sleeves or how much fresh coffee was made (and whatever the variety), no matter the algorithm, new laser, or even a stolen nap or two, something was missing and drove them to a point... to <em>that</em> point.</p><p>An edge neither had reached before, a precipice of high frustration, sweat beading, and bodies thrumming from exhaustion and an overload of caffeine, with still no answer or solution. Not in Doctor Robotnik's many decades of government employ, or Stone's very own military service had this ever occurred. And what it exposed and what it left them with was a confounded and all-consuming fever to complete, to succeed, to finish...</p><p>Robotnik’s cock was stuffed so tight inside of Stone the seam and zipper of his slacks bit into the younger man's vulnerable flesh. In the quickness no item of clothing had been removed, only shoved down or aside, only organic lubricant of the Doctor’s making grasped and thought of in the manic rush. So pent up, so desperate, the pair tied together from shoulders to hips, to thighs and ankles. Not an inch not touching. Inside and out. Buried so deep. And Robotnik kept Stone full... rocking and nudging, keeping constant pressure against his prostate, that Stone in the aftermath can't remember breathing, let alone how quickly or slow the act happened.</p><p>He can only remember the heat, the sweat, the weight of the Doctor aligned to his spine, and how good it felt. So much that the Doctor had to cover his mouth, gloves over his lips to keep him quiet as he came, spilling himself on the floor of the lab on all fours, and feeling the Doctor follow suit with a shivering groan and the heated rush inside him.</p><p>And then... It became a thing. Suddenly from failed experiments it progressed to failed meetings, then to hard-going days, where the end result was always the same - they fucked. No prettier way to put it. The stress and tension released in desperate, lustful coupling. No talking. No instructions. Direction only with hands, mouths, and the physical need to let go, to finish. However, to start, a simple touch of a shoulder, a breath on a shirt collar, a tug on a jacket.</p><p>The only rules established were through action.</p><p>Don't speak. Moans and cries of pleasure acceptable, purposefully sort out and drawn out by further action. But no words, no discussion. Whimpers and gasps of encouragement. Pinnings became less an act of warning and beratement to a prelude of debauchment and grunts of clothed pleasure; coat and suit remaining on through desperate dry humping. The Doctor’s breath ragged and mustache tickling at the shell of Stone's ear, and echoed back to him but with a handful of fisted hair and rasp of stubble. All the while the pair still clung, lips bitten, and hips still pressed together.</p><p>Don't touch. Or at least Stone couldn’t. The Doctor used his hands to play Stone like a finely tuned instrument, one mastered and well understood. It took him so little to get wanton moans and shivers from him, no matter how hard he tried the Doctor’s hands were just too much for Stone to stay quiet over. On his cock, fingers preparing him, dipped into his mouth. Gloves on or off. He loved it. He loved every second of finally having the Doctor’s undivided attention. But when Robotnik was on him, sinking and grinding, taking his fill, Stone was forbidden to hold him, lay a finger on him. Anywhere. Batted away. Denied. Every single time. Even pinned above his head or bound by his very own silk tie.</p><p>And finally, Don't look. Robotnik covered Stone's eyes the first time he rode him, and every time since. He slides a blindfold over Stone's eyes before sliding onto him, taking the younger man’s hard cock into his body. That blindfold the only determining sign of how the night will go and end. The first time though, that very first time had been so slow, the slowest and longest they’d ever taken. Robotnik self-prepared, but unused, untamed by another - Stone could tell by the hitches of breath, the little startled gasps. The Doctor's discovery of pleasure from the inside. Taking in receiving. A revelation.</p><p>Until after one long, grueling week, everything that could go wrong went wrong, and to top it off the fucking also wasn't right. The rhythm perfect, the pleasure there but all tangled up - too stressed, too desperate. Robotnik grinding his teeth as well as his hips.<br/>
Stone may not have been allowed to see, to watch, but he could hear, could feel... and wanted to feel more. Soothe the Doctor's want, give him what he couldn't reach himself - a conclusion, a triumphant end...</p><p>So he took control. Stone grabbed and he thrust, and the mewl it unleashed - the striking pleasure enough that it trembled the Doctor's thighs and paused all ministrations with a heady gasp. Only followed by denial and a scramble for control, where the Doctor's nails bit into Stone's hands, to pull them away, enough to mark and bleed, but no words, no refusal, no verbal objections. So Stone didn't stop, he simply held tighter, enough to bruise, enough to mark… and the Doctor came, came so hard the result reached to paint Stone’s upper chest and brushed his chin.</p><p>The messy aftermath. </p><p>Robotnik did not seek him out for over a month. It had been weekly they would fuck, would take pleasure from failure, or it seemed less so recently, just a physical need... But Robotnik avoided him, in the lab and even in the small kitchenette. Distanced himself. He did not stay. No pinnings. He kept himself away. A safe distance. And all Stone could think about was the purple marks of his fingerprints. The shape of his hands, his grip on the Doctor he knew were hidden beneath his black dress-pants, colouring his skin, changing day by day… until they would fade.</p><p>It was punishment. Stone knew he shouldn't have held him, didn't matter that it was for the Doctor’s benefit, for his release, or even that it was too tight. He wasn't supposed to touch. No matter how badly he had wanted to, or wants to… during the day, to reach out and caress the older man; run a hand through his luscious hair, touch his sensitive lower back, gently cup the perfect curve of his ass.</p><p>A whole month, a whole excruciating torment of distance, before the Doctor allowed Stone back into his orbit. But this time, Stone had already retired to his quarters, jacket and tie removed, buttons next… when the door opened and closed without a knock or a word.</p><p>Stone didn't look away and neither did Robotnik. A staring match across the dim room. Who would cave first.</p><p>Stone started undoing the buttons of his shirt, popping one by one until the black fabric parted to reveal a slither of defined chest and abdomen. Perfectly sculptured, worked on and trained to be as efficient as possible, to be of use. If need be, keep the Doctor safe.</p><p>The cotton leaves his shoulders and back but Robotnik's eyes remain, trailing... He's never taken a good look. Not really. Not properly. Too busy. Or too overcome with want to appreciate the hard work… The defined lines and curves of muscle; of biceps and stomach, to the fine line of hair to the button of his trousers, and where suspenders hang down by his thighs. The Doctor's breath is short, mouth watering...</p><p>“Is there something you want, sir?”</p><p>Robotnik's eyes flash up; sharp, cutting, another rule broken, Stone defiant. And it rakes a shiver up Robotnik's spine. He says nothing.</p><p>Stone steps closer, and closer again, within reaching distance... and that's what Robotnik wanted. Fingers hooking and pulling him closer without a word, and, without a further one, down to his knees. His mouth wanting something else but words to fill it, to stop any spilling out.</p><p>Stone stutters mentally and physically; hips jumping at the lips now pressed unrepentant to his zipper. He bites his lip, refrains from saying anything but his eyes can't not look, can't not see. And staring down, Stone catches the Doctor's gaze...</p><p>A talented, glove-less hand reaches up to cover those brown eyes, shield him from Stone’s line of sight.</p><p>
  <em>Don't look. Don't look at me. Don't watch.</em>
</p><p>But through the entire act, of lips on hardened flesh; slick and wet and soft, and moans of pleasure, fluttering lashes and glassy eyes. Through a singular gap of elegant fingers, Stone watches. A voyeur to every single second of the Doctor giving and taking pleasure, wringing it from him and drinking it down. Learning through Stone's groans and buck of hips what's good and what's incredible.</p><p>And Robotnik knows. Knows those eyes are on him. Only for him. From start to finish.</p><p> </p>
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